


A Gift of Wings

by white_cross_b



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-11
Updated: 2010-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_cross_b/pseuds/white_cross_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yohji snorts. "You should know, you were there." He's defensive now, and Aya curses at the distance that he himself has put between them. "I asked to forget and I tried to kill you, don't you remember?" Yohji asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift of Wings

Title: A Gift of Wings  
Author: white_cross_b  
Type: Fiction  
Characters/Pairings: Yohji/Aya  
Rating: NC-17  
Beta: [](http://whymzycal.livejournal.com/profile)[**whymzycal**](http://whymzycal.livejournal.com/)

_ **Fic: A Gift of Wings** _

Aya's consciousness gathers slowly, particle by particle, swirling stars in a galaxy of its own creation as it comes together to form the bare essence of his being. He is only energy itself at first, drifting and sleeping, before his mind sparks to life and he begins to remember his name. AYA. Once he remembers, he becomes more real and more solid, and the beginnings of his body begin to materialize. Arms, legs, fingers, and toes, all tingle and ache sweetly as he moves them again for the first time. His ears hear music, delicate and melodic, waking his senses into a song, with bright bursts of color behind his closed lids. A sudden scraping sound, harsh and grating against the beauty, shocks his eyes open to see a glowing ember in the pale light.

"Hello, Aya." A voice, familiar and as sweet as honey, tugs at his memories. He knows he should remember, but words have yet to hold meaning, his throat unused to making the sounds. He tries anyway, gurgling and rasping his breath out into a sudden word that he does remember. "Yohji."

But it's not a word. It's a name.

"Good. You remember," Yohji says, and Aya has sense of self enough to wonder why Yohji would think that he wouldn't. "Some don't," Yohji answers his unasked question, and Aya can literally hear the shrug in Yohji's words. A slow, deep intake of breath and the heavy expulsion of air, and Aya realizes the small amber glow is a cigarette, and that Yohji is smoking, the scraping sound that he had heard a Zippo. Instead of being irritated, Aya is glad for the familiarity, as if all things are as they should be. Just how long had he been asleep? "What happened?" he asks finally. It's dark and he can't see anything around him, only the glowing tip of Yohji's cigarette dancing before his eyes.

"What do you remember?" Yohji asks. There is hesitation there, as if Yohji is testing his memory, and Aya thinks he must be in worse shape than he thought. Is he lying down? He can't feel anything except for his own bodily sensations. No sheets, no mattress, nothing firm, just space. He panics, thinking that he is somehow paralyzed, but he remembers that he can feel and move, though that knowledge doesn't make his panic lessen any. Yohji's hands are suddenly reassuring as they touch his forehead gently. "It's okay, Aya. You're okay. Just... relax."

"Where am I?" Aya asks, and he can hear the desperation in his voice. This is no hospital that he knows, and he knows all of neighboring ones well, having been there countless times. Something must be very, very wrong.

"Tell me what you remember," Yohji prompts again, more firmly, and this time it isn't a question.

"There was a mission..." Aya begins, and of course there was a mission. Doesn't everything involve a mission in one way or another? His forehead wrinkles with the effort of pulling the memories together, but they're slippery, like sand. He tries again. "There was a mission... we were to take out another mad fucking scientist who thought they could make humans better, that they had the right to experiment on innocent people. Someone tripped a silent alarm. Yuki... Yuki!" Aya remembers the bullet now, how time seemed to stretch and pull like taffy, and how Yuki's eyes had been wide with fear as he looked up from his laptop into the barrel of a gun. And then Aya was flying. He struggles against Yohji. He needs to see Yuki, and he needs to see him _now_.

"Yuki isn't hurt," Yohji informs him calmly, even as he holds Aya down to stop his panicked struggling. Aya doesn't know how he knows this, but he immediately knows that what Yohji said is true. After a minute, cold realization creeps up his spine, making the back of his neck prickle with unease. "What are you doing here?" he asks, and somehow he knows that as much as Yohji doesn't want to tell him, Aya really doesn't want to hear the answer. Something isn't right, and he _really_ doesn't want to know what it is.

"The correct question is more along the lines of what are _you_ doing here, not me," Yohji replies, and he flicks the ash from the tip of his cigarette nervously. It's something Aya has seen Yohji do hundreds of times, and yet, this time it's different, because Aya is in England, and Yohji is in Japan. Or at least he should be in Japan, and if he's not, Aya needs to know just what the fuck is going on here. What Yohji says next is so unexpected that Aya is sure that he's heard Yohji wrong.

"You took a bullet for the kid," Yohji says. "You died, Aya." And it's as simple as that.

Aya is so stunned that he can't think of anything to say for several moments. His mouth opens and closes again several times before he just gives up on words altogether. "If it makes you feel any better," Yohji continues, "your teammates were really broken up about it, especially Yuki. They sent you to Japan to be buried with your parents. I thought you might like to know that."

"Where are my parents?" Aya asks when he's found the words to speak. His voice sounds unfamiliar to his ears, and his heart is beating heavily in his chest. This is the moment he has looked forward to and feared the most. His judgement has now come upon him, and the crosses of his victims that he has carried on his back for the last several years are so very heavy.

Yohji smiles. "They're in Heaven." The words are beautiful, and they dance in the air like a sunbeam, and Aya could weep with joy but for the nagging feeling he has in his chest that some things still aren't as they seem. "And where are we?" he dares to ask. "A halfway point," Yohji replies. "Some call it Purgatory." He takes the last drag on his cigarette, tosses it on the ground and grinds it with the heel of his boot. Even as Aya is irritated at the mark that it leaves, it shimmers and grows faint until there is nothing left but a clean, white floor. Had the cigarette even been real? Was anything in this place real? In fact, Yohji...

"Cancer," Yohji says, answering an unasked question once again. "Fucking lung cancer, can you believe it? You died a hero's death, and I died because I smoked BEFORE I lost my memories. I hadn't even had one in years."

"So you never remembered?" Aya asks.

Yohji shakes his head. "I would have come to you if I had." His voice is soft and wistful as he looks at Aya with wide green eyes. The last times Aya had seen them, they had been haunted and so full of pain, and then after that, they had been closed while he lay still in a hospital bed. Now they looked at Aya with an emotion that Aya couldn't name, and he felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle once again. Something was happening that he didn't understand, and the air around him was heavy with expectation.

"You fucked Ken," Yohji finally says.

Aya shrugs. "And you fucked your nurse."

"That's different," Yohji argues. "I didn't remember!"

Aya sighs in disappointment. This can't be what Yohji wants to talk about, after everything. He had fucked Ken a handful of times because he was lonely, and Ken was the only one who could possibly understand, that it was for comfort and nothing more. Aya's relationship with Yohji in the end had been strained at its very best, and then Yohji had been lost to him after their last mission. Aya had wondered many times if he had done the right thing by leaving Yohji behind at the hospital, but it would have been dangerous for them both had he stayed. Once Yohji had woken, his memories were gone, so there was nothing for Aya to come back for, and Ken had been more than willing to give Aya what he needed.

Aya tries not to be defensive when he finally asks, "So, you were watching me from up here?" The idea seems a little unnerving.

Yohji pulls another cigarette out of his pocket and lights up, and Aya can't help noticing that his hand is trembling. "I got to see your life," Yohji says on the exhale, "while I was here waiting for you. I wanted to know... things." The way Yohji says the word _things_ makes Aya shiver once again. The sense of expectation, of waiting, is even stronger now, almost a physical thing, pushing at his chest. He becomes very aware that he is nearly naked, with nothing but a simple white drape of fabric hanging from his hips, ending well above the knee, while Yohji is dressed all in black, from his black leather boots to his simple sleeveless shirt, surprisingly long enough to tuck into his long black pants. Yohji is watching him intently, his green eyes keen in a way Aya has never seen them before, the usual lazy expression now sharp and focused.

"I'd like some clothes," Aya says, more for something to say, to try to break this sense of expectation that he feels: like he should be doing something, but he just doesn't know what it is.

"Soon," is all Yohji says. He takes another drag on his cigarette, his eyes still staring. Aya shivers again, this time from a tingling sensation that begins in his fingertips and moves up his arms, flowing down his back and legs. The hairs on his body are standing up now, his skin crawling, and the feeling recedes, only to concentrate solely in one area: on his back and his shoulder blades, growing stronger until it becomes an agonizing pain. "What's happening to me?" he gasps, falling to his knees, his entire body shaking in agony.

"It's okay," Yohji says into his ear, his hand stroking Aya's hair soothingly. "It's starting now. It'll be over soon." _What?_ Aya wants to ask, but he's groaning out loud as his bones begin to shift under the muscles of his back. He's splitting open, he's dying once again, his body contorting beyond human boundaries into something twisted and inhuman as he writhes on the ground, screaming in agony. When he's sure he can't take any more, they burst forth, stretching and unfurling, bright wings of light. Snowy white feathers appear, their tips glowing with glittering colors like crystal as they beat in the air, stretching... reaching... and Aya understands everything now. There is a burst of light and then all is still, save for the sound of whispering wings in the air.

Yohji looks at Aya with large, wet eyes, awe written plainly on his features as Aya staggers to his feet. The wings aren't heavy as he would have imagined; they are light as air, and for some reason, he now feels complete, as if he had been missing a piece of his soul that he has now regained. "They're beautiful," Yohji whispers, and tears flow freely down his cheeks. Aya moves his wings, beating them effortlessly as he rises several feet into the air -- the feeling of the breeze between each feather is glorious, and he laughs out loud in surprised delight. He touches the ground gently and moves toward Yohji, his arms open wide. "Let me see yours," he says, and Yohji pales.

"No," Yohji says, backing away.

"Show me," Aya demands, and the very air seems to shake with the force of his command.

Yohji shakes his head, but even as he does, his wings appear behind him, rising up and out, blocking out the light that shines behind him. Feathers, black as ebony and tipped in red, rustle and move, beautiful and obscene. Aya steps back in horror, his own wings beating as hard as his heart, clearly in distress at the sight. "What have you done?" he asks in revulsion.

"What do you think?" Yohji replies, and the hurt in his voice is unmistakable. "I sinned. What else is new?" He takes a drag from his cigarette, and Aya sees him now, sees him clearly, the black wings, the black of his clothes. He's fallen from grace, and yet he's as beautiful as ever, with that ever-present and haunting sex appeal, and Aya wants to run his hands down Yohji's slender hips and bury his face in his golden hair. He steps forward, but Yohji shrinks back. "Don't touch me," he objects, and Aya actually obeys, and his hands fall uselessly at his sides, but his wings beat the air in agitation. "Tell me what happened," Aya says.

Yohji snorts. "You should know, you were there." He's defensive now, and Aya curses at the distance that he himself has put between them. "I asked to forget and I tried to kill you, don't you remember?" Yohji asks.

"Kritiker asked too much of you," Aya says in Yohji's defense. "They shouldn't have expected you to use sex for information. You were hurting-"

Yohji cuts him off quickly. "Fuck Kritiker! This has nothing to do with them. Don't you get it, Aya? We're _angels._ We have a job to do, and I disobeyed. I wanted to forget who I was, and I was willing to do whatever it took to forget. Be careful what you wish for, and all that. What we did had nothing to do with Kritiker; we were carrying out God's will on Earth. I committed the ultimate sin, and no, I'm never gonna learn."

Aya's eyes are drawn to Yohji's tattoo, the black ink a sharp contrast against his honey-colored skin. Aya has traced that mark many times with his fingertips and sometimes wetly with his tongue. He knows it intimately, the wings, the inverted cross, the sharp word like nails, _**SIN**._ The significance now gives him the urge to retch and he looks away before the urge becomes a reality. "You didn't remember. You didn't know," he whispers, and the words make him feel like dying.

"Heaven accepts no excuses, Aya." Yohji tosses his cigarette butt down, but doesn't crush out the glowing ember this time. Instead, he just lets it burn.

"I forgive you," Aya says quietly.

"What did you say?" Yohji asks, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Aya speaks louder this time, so there is no mistaking his words or his intent when he says, "I said that I forgive you." He steps closer, even as Yohji shrinks back, his wings folding in on themselves, making himself smaller. "Please don't," he says, his voice trembling when Aya reaches out his hand. The touch at first is as light as a feather itself, barely brushing against Yohji's cheek, wiping away a tear. His lips find the next one, and the salt against his tongue is so sweet, sweeter than any honey. His arms slide around Yohji's waist, and Yohji is stiff and unyielding against him as Aya pulls their bodies together, his wings wrapping around Yohji in an intimate embrace. "I forgive you," he says again, and Yohji finally melts against him, clinging to Aya as if Aya's forgiveness is all that he needs.

Aya is flooded with memories, memories of his past, of his parents, his sister, and Yohji, always Yohji. _"I can make you feel so good,"_ Yohji purrs. _"Please, just let me touch you,"_ and it's years ago, and he's at the Koneko, and it's after a mission, and he's wound so tight that he wants to scream. Yohji knows, somehow he knows, and his breath is hot in Aya's ear, his hands warm on his skin as they push under Aya's shirt, and Yohji's mouth is on him everywhere, hot and wet and so, so good. Yohji fucks him until he comes apart bit by bit, and he always knows how to put Aya back together again, better than he was before. They fight and they fuck, love and hate, and always came back for more because it's never, ever enough.

Yohji is naked now, has shed his clothes while Aya was lost in thought. His touches are now real, not just memories, and Aya gasps as Yohji's fingers brush lightly over the soft curve of a wing, a new erogenous zone that he will soon need to explore at great length. The simple touch sends shivers of pleasure all down his spine, leaving him weak in the knees. "It's this," Yohji says, "this that separates us," and his fingers are tangling in white feathers, and Aya is powerless against him, even as Yohji's fingers become cruel and pull, feathers scattering in the the air, now red-tipped with blood. Yohji becomes more frantic, clawing, ripping out feathers, as Aya's beautiful wings beat helplessly against the onslaught. Their mouths press together urgently, a mash of lips and tongues as they rise in the air, wings tangling together in a frenzy as Yohji pushes inside him, thick and long and deliciously hard, fucking Aya furiously, each roll of his hips pushing them higher into the sky. White feathers are falling from Yohji's fingers like snow and Aya buries his face in the soft black of Yohji's wings as he comes, his entire body singing with life in a way he's never experienced before. Yohji's thrusts become more frantic, more powerful, and with a cry that shakes the very air they breathe, empties his seed into Aya's spent body. They're falling... falling... and then they hit the ground hard, and all is silent.

Aya dreams...

They're on Yohji's balcony at night, the city of Tokyo lit brightly around them. Aya stands watching, feeling apart from it all, when Yohji finds him standing there. Yohji's chest is bare, his shoes left at the doorway as he steps barefooted onto the balcony in nothing but a pair of black jeans that hang low on his hips. "What are you thinking about?" he asks, standing behind Aya, his breath warm and comforting in Aya's ear. Aya shakes his head -- he can't put it into words, and Yohji doesn't push, just lets him keep his thoughts to himself. "Come inside," he says instead, and his hands reach up to slide Aya's coat from his shoulders, giving him access to Aya's neck, where he presses his lips lightly, warm and soft. Yohji is always so warm. Aya sighs and leans back against Yohji, his eyes fluttering closed. "Aya... Aya..." Yohji whispers in his ear, and there's more coming, but Aya can't take the words and the pain they'll bring. "Don't say things you can't mean," Aya says. "Or make promises you can't keep." Yohji sighs. "Come inside," he says again instead, palming Aya through his pants as he grows thick and hard, and this time Aya listens.

Aya opens his eyes, full of regret. Maybe that one time, he should have let Yohji speak.

"If you're finished," a voice asks, startling Aya from his thoughts.

Standing over them is a bearded, white-haired man dressed in a long, ivory linen robe. In one of his hands he holds a set of golden keys on a ring; in the other, a piece of cloth. There is a light shining down on him, or perhaps he is giving off his own light, and he looks down at Aya kindly.

"St. Peter," Yohji says, and there is fear in his voice. The Saint gives Yohji a nod, then reaches out to Aya. "This is for you," he says, and what Aya thought was a simple piece of white cloth, is in fact, a robe. The fabric is feather-soft as Aya shrugs it on over his shoulders, his wings miraculously finding the slots for themselves and working their way through as the robe drapes loosely from Aya's slender form and falls about his ankles in a swirl of shimmering cloth. Yohji, already dressed but for his boots, ties the sash around Aya's waist. There are tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," Yohji says. His voice is choked with emotion, and Aya's throat tightens.

"Now, if you'll come with me," St. Peter says, gesturing with his keys, "we can be on our way. You have family waiting for you that I'm sure you're anxious to see."

Aya's bare feet make no sound as he steps forward, walking through fallen feathers, falling into step behind the Saint before turning around to see Yohji standing still, watching him go, his face stricken. "Wait," Aya says firmly, taking two steps back. "Where you're going, he can't follow," St. Peter says, not unkindly, but it twists in Aya's gut like a knife.

"Why?" Aya asks. His voice is defiant, but he's never been one to follow the rules.

"He is to be punished," the Saint replies, and it's so matter-of-fact that Aya's anger boils to the surface. Without thinking, his arm extends and a sword appears, flashing in his grip, long and sharp. Behind him Yohji gasps and is at his side in a moment. "Aya, no!" he says, his hand on Aya's arm, forcing him to lower the weapon, but Aya's arm is strong, and he won't be deterred.

"Are you sure this is wise, Michael, _He who is as God?_" the Saint asks.

"He doesn't remember who he is yet," Yohji says frantically. "You can't judge him for this." He turns to Aya, his eyes beseeching. "Please, Aya. _Please._ Don't do this. Save yourself."

"Stand aside, Gabriel, Strength of God," the Saint commands. "His fate will not be decided by you."

"And _his_ fate will not be decided by _you_," Aya replies.

St. Peter smiles, dark and mischievous. "Ran Fujimiya, are you willing to give up all that you are, and all you can and will be, for him?"

"I am," Aya says, and his heart pounds, his breath quickens. He will never be more sure, and he will never again let words go unsaid. "I love him." The worlds roll effortlessly off his tongue, though he never uttered them out loud in his lifetime before. Yohji's hand on Aya's arm begins to tremble.

"And you, Yohji Kudoh," St. Peter says, turning to Yohji, "will you allow him to give up everything to stay by your side?"

"No," Yohji replies, "I won't." His voice is firm as he removes his hand from Aya's arm and steps away.  "I love him, and I won't allow this."

"You want the same thing," St. Peter says with slight amusement, "and yet your wishes are different. Come, Ran Fujimiya, I shall not keep the gate open for long."

Aya pauses, swings his sword through the air a few times, testing the weight and his own agility, and is met with the sharp shriek of steel on steel. An angel appears in front of him, blade in hand, eyes flashing with purpose and danger.

"Metatron." St. Peter bows his head. "I shall leave matters of archangels to you." He turns, and with every step of retreat he makes, he fades, softening around the edges, then breaking apart and drifting like sakura petals in the breeze, until he is nothing more.

"You have not yet reached Heaven, but you would shed blood?" the angel asks, his voice like thunder, rumbling in Aya's ears and way down low in his belly. Aya is reminded of thunderstorms from when he was a kid, with heavy wind and earth-shaking lightning, seeming to tear the sky apart, leaving it in tatters of rain. The angel has countless wings, each one set with several pairs of eyes, all fixing their fiery gaze on Aya.

"I fight in the name of justice," Aya says, refusing to bow down to the angel before him.

"It wasn't long ago," the angel says, "that you scoffed to Richard Kripton at his idea in fighting for justice, and now you stand before me with your blade drawn. But this is not yet your true form, Ran Fujimiya, and you cannot win. Lower your sword."

Aya strengthens his hold on the grip. "No. Give Yohji another chance."

To Aya's surprise, Yohji steps forward, his arms outstretched in supplication, his head bowed. "I accept my punishment." With his free hand, Metatron gestures toward Yohji, and chains materialize out of the air, manacles wrapping around his wrists and neck, the heavy chain threading its way through the loops, as Yohji sinks to his knees under their weight. "Go, Aya," he says firmly, and Aya can see the resolve on his face.

"No," Aya says again.

Metatron lowers his blade and moves closer to Aya until they are standing face to face, and Aya looks into his eyes, repressing the urge to shudder. He sees crumbling mountains there, ruins, fire against a blackened sky. There is violence and retribution and war. He sees time, spanning for eons, backward and forward, and wings in a never-setting sun. "What do you offer in exchange?" Metatron asks, and for a moment, Aya falters. "My servitude," he says at last.

Metatron's eyes sharpen. "Do you know what it is you are offering?"

Aya lowers his blade and bows his head. "I do," he says.

The angel's multitude of wings beat at the air savagely, blocking out the light. "You will return to the earth, Yohji Kudoh, with no guarantee that you will ever again reach Heaven. Work off your debt, and the gates will be open to you once again."

Yohji looks up, tears in his eyes. "Do I even have a say in this?" he asks.

"The deal has been made," Metatron answers, in a voice that says his word is law.

Aya drops his sword. It clatters to the ground in a shower of sparks, then disappears as if it were never there. "I'll find you," he says, kneeling before Yohji, taking Yohji's face into his hands. "I promise you, no matter where you are, I'll find you."

"Why?" Yohji asks. The chains slide heavily together as he holds onto Aya's wrists. "Why would you do this for me?"

"What wouldn't I do?" Aya replies, and then he's falling... falling... in a burst of feathers, he is no more.

***

The being that was once Reiji Takatori taps a quill against his chin, studying the piece of parchment in front of him. "Gabriel's fall as Yohji Kudoh will need to be recorded. You do agree that I won that one temporarily?"

The being that was once Shuichi Takatori smiles. "Of course. I always keep my word, even with you, Lucifer."

Lucifer records the recent events on his scroll in perfect handwritten script. It is not the language of humans, but of angels, of straight lines and small circles, the oldest language in existence. "Your Father will be disappointed."

"The angels wept to see Archangel Gabriel in chains," replies the Son. "Though it is not the first time Gabriel has fallen, if you remember. He once was kept from Heaven for disobeying orders. He accepted his punishment and was forgiven."

"And Michael was by his side?" Lucifer asks.

"Always," the Son replies. "But back to our matters at hand. Raphael and Uriel as Mamoru Takatori and Ken Hidaka are still earth-bound. Ken will need to be watched closely since Aya's death, though I think he will remain on my side. His previous troubles are long in the past. Now tell me about your four devils. I believe one has come to my side?"

Lucifer sighs. "Nagi. I hold no illusions that he will come back to me. Schuldig and Crawford, however, continue to make me proud."

"And Farfarello?"

"He is the son that I never had." Lucifer's smile is sharp, his eyes fond.

"Shall we return to earth and play another round?" the Son asks.

"It would be my pleasure," Lucifer replies with a small bow.

The Son smiles mischievously. "Perhaps this time _**I**_ might play the devil."

Lucifer raises his eyebrow in surprise. "That would be blasphemous."

"Yes, it would, but my Father has a sense of humor," the Son replies, a twinkle in his eyes.

***

Aya stands at the nursery window with her husband, one hand held tightly in his, the other resting on the glass. "Atsushi! Look! There he is!" A nurse appears with an infant in hand, tightly swaddled in a blue blanket, and motions for them to step inside. Atsushi holds the door open for Aya and watches as she takes the infant lovingly in her arms, beaming down at his sleeping face.

"Have you thought of a name?" the nurse asks as she relinquishes the baby boy to his mother.

"Ran," Aya says with a wistful smile. "He's named after my brother."

"He certainly has a shocking head of red hair," the nurse replies, then turns to busy herself with another infant who is waving his chubby little fists and wailing as loud as his little lungs will allow.

"Yes, he does," Aya says softly.

The birth had been difficult, the baby premature. He had spent a week in an incubator while his lungs grew stronger, until he was finally moved to a regular bed with a clean bill of health. Now he lay in Aya's arms, his face red and scrunched tight against the overhead lights, a blessing in so many ways, sucking on his tiny fist. They had waited before naming him, with a second choice ready in case something went horribly wrong, but little Ran had been a fighter, worthy of his name.

"And who's this?" Atushi asks as he looks down at the crying infant, who kicks his legs and flails his arms wildly.

"We named him Youji," the nurse replies. "He was the first-born baby of the New Year. His mother was a heroin addict and left him on the steps of the hospital when he was just a few hours old."

"What a horrible thing to do!" Aya exclaims. "What will happen to him now?"

"He's to be taken to Yokohama Penichua Church later this afternoon until he's legally ready for adoption. After that..." The nurse shrugs. "We can only hope he'll find a loving home. Now if you'll come this way, we can get you ready for Ran's release so you can finally take him home."

Aya gently returns the infant to his bed, and she and Atsushi follow behind the nurse. Ran opens his eyes, blinking sleepily as Youji suddenly stops crying and turns to Ran with large green eyes.

The two infants look at each other and drool.

  



End file.
